by Holly Webb
Keira shook her head. “No,” she said quickly. “It’s OK.”
Emma wanted to persuade her, but she had a feeling it would only make Keira feel worse. “I want to wear Sammy out a bit, before Dad comes and we put him in the carrying box,” she explained. Dad was bringing the box when he came to pick Emma up from her lesson, any time now.
“Do you think Sammy won’t like it?” Keira asked.
“I don’t know.” Emma sighed. “It feels mean taking him away from Tiggy and the other kittens, but he’s about nine weeks old. Lots of kittens go to new homes then, even though it’s a bit young. From the websites Dad and I looked at it sounded like it’d be best to rehome Sammy as soon as possible. Otherwise he’ll do whatever his mum does. Tiggy still doesn’t really like being touched, and she’d never let me pick her up. I don’t want Sammy to learn to be scared of people from her.”
“What’s going to happen to the other kittens?” Keira asked.
“Liz thinks she’s found a lady who wants them,” Emma said happily. “She’s had cats before and she’s going to take them both together. Later this week, I think.” She glanced anxiously at Tiggy, who was still watching her kittens closely. “Poor Tiggy, she’ll really miss them. But it is the best thing for the kittens, I’m sure it is.”
“Oh! Your dad’s here,” Keira said, turning to look out of the barn door.
Emma let out an excited gasp. “Oh, wow…” she murmured. “I’m actually getting to take you home, Sammy!”
She had brought along a packet of cat treats, so they could tempt Sammy into the crate. The kittens were eating dry food like Tiggy now, although theirs was made for kittens. The cat treats were a special extra. Emma took the carrier from her dad and opened the wire door. Then she scattered a few treats inside. Tiggy and all the kittens edged closer – they knew what that rustling noise meant.
“They’re all coming,” Emma said worriedly to Dad.
“That’s probably not a bad thing. We want Sammy to think the box isn’t scary. If they all play around in it for a bit, he won’t mind going in, will he?”
“I guess not.” Emma watched as all three kittens explored their way around the carrier, nibbling at the treats and sniffing the soft cushion lining. Even Tiggy snapped up a treat that was just by the door.
“Emma, look,” Dad murmured, a few minutes later. “Sammy’s going in on his own. You can close the door in a second.”
Emma nodded, and as the white tip of Sammy’s striped tail cleared the door, she gently swung it shut and twisted the catches.
“Let’s go home,” she whispered.
Sammy sat pressed against the back of the box. He had no idea what was happening – he’d never seen anywhere but the barn. Now he was shut into the small, shadowy carrier, and somehow it was moving. The smells were strange and sharp, and there was so much noise. The vibration of the car was completely new to Sammy and very frightening.
He could hear Emma’s voice, and her dad’s, and he knew that they were familiar, but it wasn’t making him feel much better.
“Do you think he’s all right? I thought he might meow, but he’s not even making any noise.”
“It’s a big shock for him, poor kitten. We’re nearly back, Emma.”
“We’re almost home,” Emma whispered through the holes in the carrier. “Not much longer.”
Sammy felt himself pressed against the side of the carrier as the car swung round a corner. He let out a little hiss of fright and tried to back further into the box – but there wasn’t anywhere to go. He scratched at the plastic, just a faint little movement of his paw. Nothing happened. Sammy closed his eyes and hoped his mother would come.
“I don’t understand,” Emma whispered. “He was so friendly before. He let me pick him up. He even slept on my lap.”
“One of those websites did say to expect a kitten to take a couple of steps backwards when it’s moved, Ems,” Dad pointed out. “He’s only been here a few hours.”
“I didn’t think he’d be this jumpy.” Mum looked worriedly at Sammy, tense and nervous, his whiskers bristling.
“He’s just a bit scared,” Dad said encouragingly.
“I suppose so…” Mum sighed.
Emma looked over at the big wire crate they’d borrowed from one of the neighbours, whose puppy didn’t need it any more. Sammy couldn’t be loose in the house just yet, as he’d probably run off and hide. But they could put the crate on the table in the corner of the kitchen, and he could see everything that was going on and get used to lots of people being around. The kitchen didn’t have any holes a kitten could get stuck in when they let him out to play.
It had seemed like the perfect plan for an almost-wild kitten. But Emma had imagined Sammy watching curiously as she ate her breakfast or did her homework. She’d thought of him purring to Dad as he made the dinner. She hadn’t seen a hissing, spitting, miserable little kitten hiding at the back of his crate. He’d even swiped at her with his claws when she put a bowl of fresh water in for him. He’d missed, but still. It was like Sammy was a different kitten.
“We need to give him time,” Dad said gently. “A day or so to calm down, before we start trying to handle him again.”
“Yes,” Emma sighed. “And I know I should have expected he wouldn’t be very happy…” But she hadn’t thought it would be like this. Mum looked so worried – and she’d really been coming round to the idea of a kitten! What if she changed her mind?
Dad patted Emma’s shoulder, and then gave Mum a hug. “Don’t look so tragic, you two! It’ll be OK! I’m just going to make some coffee. Do you want anything, Emma?”
Emma shook her head. Deep down, she realized sadly, she’d just thought that Sammy would see how nice their house was. He’d know how excited she was to have a kitten of her own – he’d understand, and he’d settle in straightaway.
“I was being stupid,” Emma muttered to herself. She crouched down in front of the crate, looking at Sammy sideways. He was still huddled up at the back, his ears flat against his little head. “I thought everything would be perfect all at once. But I’ll do anything to make you love us, Sammy. I just want you to be happy.”
Emma held out her fingers to Sammy. They were covered in roast chicken dinner baby food, which apparently was the most popular flavour with kittens. It felt sticky and gloopy, but she didn’t mind. They’d given Sammy a whole twenty-four hours to calm down, and Emma just couldn’t wait any more. All the websites said that the way to make a half-wild kitten like you was to use food. They had to make Sammy see that food came from people, and if he wanted the food he had to put up with them, too.
“He’s noticed, Ems,” Dad breathed behind her. “He can smell it.”
It was true. Emma could see Sammy’s ears flickering, just a little. And his eyes were widening. “He must be able to smell it,” she murmured. “It smells disgusting.”
“Not to a cat,” Dad whispered back.
“He’s coming!” Emma tried not to sound too excited, or too loud. Sammy was stepping delicately, cautiously across the crate to sniff at her fingers. His tiny pink tongue flicked out, and he began to lick them.
Emma held her face straight, trying not to laugh and scare him away, but it tickled so much. His tongue was very strong for such a small kitten. And it was so rough. Emma leaned a little closer, so she could see the tiny white hairs all over his tongue. Sammy stopped licking and glanced worriedly up at her for a second. But then the deliciousness of the baby food won, and he went back to getting every last bit out from under Emma’s fingernails.
Emma wanted to pull her hand away to get some more from the jar, but she was sure that would frighten Sammy. Then she rolled her eyes. Of course! She dipped her other hand in, lifting out several fat fingerfuls, and slowly moved that hand into the crate, too.
Sammy moved his head from side to side, as though he wasn’t sure which hand to go for.
“Aww, poor Sammy – you’ve confused him now,” Dad said.
Sammy decided that he couldn’t get much more from Emma’s right hand and changed to gulping down the food from her left. Emma looked at him thoughtfully. Her right hand was still in the crate. Very gently, she ran her hand down Sammy’s back. He tensed a little, but he didn’t spring away. Emma kept softly stroking his fur.
“Is that nice?” she whispered. “Is it nice being stroked, mmm?”
Sammy glanced up at her, as if to check what the noise was, but he kept licking.
“Keep stroking him,” Dad murmured. “I’m going to get a little bowl of his proper dry food. Let’s see if we can get him to eat that with us still here watching him.”
He filled the bowl quietly and passed it to Emma so she could put it in front of Sammy. The little kitten darted back as the bowl suddenly appeared, but then he caught the scent of the dry cat food he was used to. He gave Emma’s fingers one last hopeful swipe with his tongue and moved on to the bowl.
“You try stroking him,” Emma whispered to Dad.
Dad nodded and reached slowly into the crate, running one finger down Sammy’s back as he busily gobbled the food. Sammy glanced over his shoulder, but he didn’t stop eating.
“It really works,” Dad murmured. “We can do this again when we feed him at lunchtime.”
Emma nodded. “Every time we feed him. And maybe soon we can get him out of the crate and let him eat from his bowl on the floor.” She sighed happily. “It’s really going to be OK, Dad, I’m sure it is.”
“Which top do you think I should wear?” Mum held two out on hangers.
“Mmm. The black one,” Emma said, watching Sammy. He’d nearly finished his bowl of food and he was looking sleepy. She had her arm inside his cage, with her hand cupped round him. Emma had a feeling he might fall asleep with her hand still there, which would be brilliant. He’d be almost back to the same friendly Sammy she’d known at the stables, and it was only a week since they’d brought him home.
“Are you sure?” Mum frowned. “You didn’t look for very long…”
“Yes, Mum. I can stroke Sammy and look, you know. Hurry up! Auntie Grace’ll be here to babysit soon.”
Mum rushed off, and Emma giggled and gently moved the food bowl. Sammy had fallen asleep with his head in it! He twitched a little and then flopped down, collapsing across her hand with a little wheezy snore. She leaned against the crate, closing her eyes and smiling dreamily to herself. Soon they’d be able to take him out of there and he’d be a real pet, she was sure.
“Are you asleep, Emma?”
“Oh! Auntie Grace, shh. I’m not, but Sammy is.” Emma reached out the arm that wasn’t in the crate to hug her aunt. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“Your dad was walking up the path when I pulled up, so I didn’t have to ring the bell. He’s just gone to change. So this is Sammy? He’s gorgeous.”
“Isn’t he?” Emma agreed proudly. “And he’s getting much more confident again. He was really upset on Saturday when we brought him home, but he’s a lot happier now.” Carefully, she slid her hand out from underneath him, and Sammy snuffled but stayed asleep. She grinned at her aunt. “I’ve got pins and needles now. Mum says please can you help me with my science homework, but she’s got us a DVD for afterwards.”
Emma yawned and snuggled against Auntie Grace. “Can’t we watch a bit more?”
“No! You know your mum said eight-thirty, cheeky. Besides, haven’t you got to feed Sammy before bed?”
“Oh yes, and you haven’t seen him awake yet, I forgot!” Emma sprang up from the sofa. “I’ll go and get his food.” She hurried into the kitchen and began to measure it out, while Sammy padded up and down the crate, watching her and mewing hopefully.
Emma had just opened the door of the crate to put the bowl in when Auntie Grace pushed open the kitchen door. It banged slightly, and Sammy jumped at the noise. He saw Auntie Grace – someone he’d never met before – and suddenly panicked. He hissed loudly, and Emma stared at him. “What’s the matter, Sammy?”
“Oh dear, is he OK?” Auntie Grace asked, leaning over to look at him.
Sammy hissed again as he saw the strange person coming closer. He darted out of the crate door, desperate to get away.
“I think he’s a bit scared because you’re new,” Emma said worriedly, trying to catch him. “Maybe you’d better just let me sort him out, Auntie Grace.”
Auntie Grace stepped back out of the kitchen, but Sammy was already spooked. He scrabbled over Emma’s arm in a panic, accidentally clawing at her wrist so that she squeaked and dropped the food bowl.
The bowl smashed on the tiles with a huge crash, and Sammy yowled in fright. He raced round the side of the crate, but the table was pushed up against the wall below the window and there was nowhere to go. Frantically, he clawed his way up the curtains, digging his tiny claws into the fabric.
Sammy hung there, swaying a little. He didn’t really understand what had happened. He’d been about to eat his food – he could smell it – and then suddenly everything was different and terrifying. Now he didn’t even know where he was, or how he’d got so high up.
The curtain fabric ripped a little under his weight, and he slid down a few centimetres with a frightened mew. He tried to claw his way back up again, but the shiny fabric was difficult to climb, and he slipped further down.
“Sammy, it’s all right…” Emma’s voice, low and soothing. And now he wasn’t falling any more. Her hands were around him, the way they were when she fed him sometimes. After struggling for a moment, he let her unhook his paws from the few last threads of the curtains, and sat tensely in her hands, ears back and fur fluffed up.
She lifted him down, still whispering gently, and slid him back into the crate. Sammy backed away from the door anxiously, but the strange person had gone now, he could see. It was just Emma. He knew her. She was safe.
“Emma! You’re still up!”
Emma jerked awake. Mum was standing in the living-room doorway, looking surprised.
“Sorry,” said Auntie Grace. “Emma was upset, I didn’t want to make her go to bed…”
“What happened?” Dad asked, just at the same time as Mum noticed Emma’s scratched wrist and swooped down to check it.
“Emma, you’ve hurt yourself! Oh no, was it Sammy?”
“He didn’t mean to.” Emma looked sleepily at Dad and Mum. “It was an accident. And, um, I broke his food bowl. Sorry… We swept it up.”
“What’s been going on?” Dad sat down on the arm of the sofa, and Mum came to sit next to Emma.
Emma sighed. She was so tired it was hard to explain. “I went to feed him, but he was scared of Auntie Grace.”
“It was my fault. I should have thought, of course, he’s never seen me before,” Auntie Grace put in. “And he’s a bit more nervous than most kittens. I frightened him and he jumped out of the crate and scratched Emma by accident.”
“And that made me drop his bowl, and he got even more scared and ran up the curtains.”
“Oh my goodness,” Mum muttered.
“I’m afraid he did tear them a bit,” Auntie Grace went on slowly. “But he’s back in the crate now and he’s calmed down. In fact, last time Emma checked he was asleep, wasn’t he?”
Emma nodded.
Mum leaned back against the sofa and let out a huge sigh. “I knew this was a mistake. We should never have brought him home. He was so upset when we took him away from the stables and his mum. I just don’t think it’s fair.”
“Mum!” Emma gasped.
“Oh, Emma. You have to see I’m right – just look at your wrist!”
Emma looked down at the three long red lines, and the little scratches that she’d got all over her hands when she was taking Sammy off the curtains. They were sore, but it hadn’t been Sammy’s fault. He was just scared – he hadn’t meant to hurt her.
Mum put her arm round Emma. “I know how hard you’ve tried with Sammy, but he might not be the right cat for us after all. He needs to go to a shelter, I think. W
here they’ve got people who are used to looking after cats like him.”
“I’m not sure,” Dad said. “I know Sammy was difficult when we brought him home, but he is getting better.”
“Getting better!” Mum stared at him. “Emma’s covered in scratches!”
“I don’t think it’s that big a deal,” Auntie Grace said gently. “Even Whisky scratches me sometimes, if I go to pick him up and he just doesn’t feel like it.”
Mum sighed again. “I’m sorry, Emma, but he’s too unpredictable. I’m not sure he’s ever going to be really friendly. Maybe he needs a home more like the stables, where he doesn’t have to be around people if he doesn’t want to.”
“Mum, please don’t send him away!” Emma wailed. “I don’t want any other cat, only Sammy! He’ll be fine, he will. I’ll do anything to keep him.” She stared pleadingly at her mum, tears trickling down her cheeks. She couldn’t bear the thought of poor Sammy going to a shelter – somewhere else strange and new and frightening. He’d have to start all over again, and soon it would be too late to tame him. He’d be shy and wild forever.
“Look, just give us a few more weeks, love,” Dad suggested. “Of course today’s a bit of a setback, but we have to keep trying.”
“Two more weeks.” Mum looked from Emma to Dad and back again. “We have to be able to tell by then, don’t we?”
Dad nodded slowly. “All right. Emma?”
“I suppose so,” Emma whispered huskily. She was so upset her voice seemed to have disappeared. Two weeks! It was no time at all.
“What’s the matter?” Keira asked, as she led Jasmine past Emma and Sparky. “Is Sparky being a pain about getting tacked up again? You look, well, a bit sad…” she trailed off, not sure what to say. Emma looked like she might be about to cry.
“No.” Emma sniffed. “Actually Sparky’s been a total star. Maybe he can tell I just can’t deal with a tricksy pony today.”
